On a Scale from One to Ten
by Full Shadow Alchemist
Summary: When she figured it out, she politely excused herself, went to her room and threw a chair through the window. Ichimaru x Matsumoto


The rain poured through the gap in the window and hit the blonde inside. Her hands were bloody, jagged pieces of glass clutched firmly in them. Sniffing slightly, she picked up another offending piece while it cut into her smooth skin. She flinched and quickly disposed of it in a nearby bucket. Rain the blood mixed together in the bottom of the bucket as the pile of shards grew.

In the doorway, a sliver haired boy watched with a grim scowl set on his features. He made no move to help her, but watched with teal every flick of her wrist as she flung the glass into the wooden container.

Her clothing clung to her body mercilessly, making her chest size all the more apparent. Heaving a despairing sigh she turned to the boy. With grey eyes she begged for help. With teal eyes she was denied. Miserably, she glared down at the insulting glass. She was not in the mood to deal with this! She was in emotional turmoil! No one in emotional turmoil picked up broken glass!

Not according to her captain, she scowled. Then again, he was a boy. No wait, scratch that. Then again, he was _male._ How would he know if a lady was in emotional turmoil? What was it to him if a damsel was in distress? She could be sobbing on the ground and she would still have to clean it up.

It wasn't her fault! It was all their fault, not hers!

--

Nobody crossed the Shinigami's Women Association. Even new recruits only needed one warning to know that they were a force to be reckoned with. Honestly, though, they were only a dangerous death squad when provoked. At any other time, they were as fluffy and cute as bunnies. _Rabid_ bunnies.

Like now.

Yachiru had wanted to take a love quiz like the ones from the human world magazines, only one that actually _worked_. Nanao and Soi Fong weren't actually opposed to the idea surprisingly enough. They actually seemed interested. When inquired they got a respective "To finally convince my captain I'm not onto him!" and "I get bored.".

Matsumoto hadn't been worried.

Making it was the next step. They implored Nemu to use her "vast knowledge" on the subject of human nature to make the perfect quiz. After some time, she agreed.

A week later it was done.

Next was the questioning stage. They didn't let Yachiru or Matsumoto do it, it would be too awkward. They didn't let Kiyone do it, it was too loud. They didn't let Soi Fong or Nanao do it, it would be too intimidating. They got Nemu to do it again.

They started with Isane. Nemu held the pencil in her hand, eyes boring into Isane's. To begin she asked the taller woman to think of someone. After thirty full seconds Isane nodded. Nemu scribbled something on a piece of paper before leading Isane into a separate room. Matsumoto groaned.

"What's the big idea? I mean, if she loves the guy, we'll find out eventually!" she huffed at the other young women in the room.

Nanao berated her, "It's a private matter, Matsumoto-san! You can't just share knowledge like that with everyone you know or else that special person will find out!"

Matsumoto rolled her eyes and brought out some sake she had stored in the room. Nanao rolled her eyes as Matsumoto drank herself silly.

The busty woman grinned childishly as Isane came out with a small smile. "How was it Hun?" Isane smiled full force at the woman.

"A relief! It turned out as 'Just Friends'".

"That's a good thing?" She cocked an eyebrow.

"Of course! I didn't like the guy as anything more than a friend but he kept giving me these looks I was afraid that-"

"What's there to fear? If the guy likes you, then score!" She pumped her arm down before laughing hysterically. Nanao explained her drunken state.

"Matsumoto-san, I would like very much to do you next," Nemu glanced over at Matsumoto who gave her a thumbs-up. She continued, "Is there someone you have in mind?"

Someone she has in mind? Matsumoto almost burst out laughing again. More like someone she _always_ has in mind. A fox's grin slid into her mind as she nodded enthusiastically. She all but flew through the door when Nemu beckoned her in.

She had never seen a more cramped room. The walls were practically brushing against her shoulders as she went to the furthest corner. Nemu shut the door, leaving Matsumoto to wonder if anyone had ever been driven claustrophobic in the tiny might-as-well-be-a-closet room.

Nemu settled the paper on her arm to write and instantly asked, "How well do you think you know the person, on a scale of one to ten?"

"Eleven", was the cheeky answer.

Nemu wrote.

"How well, on a scale of one to ten, do you know them?"

Her throat constricted. Truly, how well did she really know him? Did she know what he thought? Did she know what he fought for? Did she know where he went?

Not at all.

"Negative eleven," was the answer.

"With one being 'never', ten being 'all the time' and five being 'sometimes', how many times do you imagine seeing him out of the corner of your eye only for him to be nothing more than your frivolous imagination?"

"Ten", her voice was shaking.

"On a scale of one to ten, one being 'I just met him' and ten being 'Almost my whole life in Soul Society', how long have you known him?"

"Ten," her face was paling.

Nemu never stopped writing.

For what Matsumoto could swear, hours had passed by the time Nemu was done asking questions. The last question was another scale based on the question of 'Would you die for him?'

Matsumoto licked her lips and waited for her results.

"You are, without a doubt, irrevocably and irreversibly in love."

Her world shattered.

"If you'll excuse me…" was all she remembered saying before she entered the haze. Arms and hands reached out to grab at her as she stumbles away. Voices speak incoherent words of worry and concern but she does not understand. Eventually, they leave her.

She's in her room when her mind wakes up again. Sprawled out on the floor, she rolls over and stares at the hard ground.

Since when…?

When did she start to care for him in this sense? She never noticed before.

She tried to remember the firt spark. Ah yes. There it was.

On the day she met him, he had fed her before helping her up. That hand to hand contact had made her shiver. She had told herself that it was because his hands were so cold.

From day one, she had liked – _loved_ – him.

Strangling to her feet, she walks over to her desk and rests her hand on the chair back. As the confusion came to an end, the anger set in.

How could she be so blind? How had she not noticed before? Tehri first meeting was over a hundred years ago! More importantly, how did he make her love him? He was what most labelled as creepy or scary or even weird. She had never considered herself to be attracted to those types.

She felt a cold indifference wash over her.

She didn't like this feeling. She didn't like not feeling. She needed sound, touch, something to distract her.

She lifted the chair and threw it through the window.


End file.
